Two-Point Conversion: Rangers Football: Hard-Hitting Sports Romance, #4

By Kameron Claire

What happens when it takes two men to be your perfect man?

Sports Romance, Opposites Attract, MFM Romance

 

One man wants her heart, the other her mind, but both play her body perfectly. Polar opposites, these twins agree on one thing, they want to make her happy. Will she have to choose between them, or can they forgive the past and form a family?

 

Maryanne Merryweather is the quintessential girl next door—always ready with a kind word and a helpful hand. She's also Deacon Scott's fiancées best friend, which means she's now working with a dozen football players, helping them establish their requisite charity programs for the season.

Most of them are easy to work with, but there's two who seem intent on needing extra time and special attention. These two troublemakers look nearly identical, but while one teases her heart with whispered words and gentle caresses, the other flashes panty melting smiles and uses filthy words to set her mind spinning into dangerous territories. How will she choose between them when neither is willing to back down?

 

Outside of the womb, Jepson Masters hasn't shared a thing with his twin brother, Jaxson. Always down for a fight, he's used to getting what he wants. So he expects his brother to back down when they both set their sights on the adorable, naive, and certainly impressionable Maryanne, who Jepson wants to corrupt in the best way—only this time Jaxson refuses to let him win.

 

They've fought over everything from toys to cars to friends, but Maryanne is one prize Jaxson will not let Jepson have to himself.

Imagine his surprise when his selfish brother suggests they share.

But will the sweet, innocent Maryanne be game?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Snuggle Whore Press, LLC
• Release date: Mar 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223749301

Kameron Claire

USA Today Bestselling Author Kameron Claire loves building worlds where heroes and heroines push, pull, and fight their way to the love and happiness they deserve. She writes full length and short, steamy romance with an emphasis on strong female characters—often in male-dominated roles—and the alpha men who know how to love and support kick-ass, take-charge women.  While she may not need him to save her, she wants him to love, support, and most of all, RAVISH her. ** Get up to date information and freebies as a newsletter subscriber: www.kameronclaire.com/newsletter ** Reach out and chat with her anytime on Facebook at www.facebook.com/kameronclaireauthor

Book preview

Prologue

I say we invite that one, and that one and, of course, the redhead over there back to our hotel.

Rex shakes his head. Coach will have our ass if he finds out we brought a bunch of strippers home with us.

Dancers— Jepson flashes a brunette his Sunday school smile —and the coach isn’t invited.

Dancers, whatever. Rex rolls his eyes.

Which one do you like, Jaxson?

Jaxson shrugs and takes a draw off his beer. I don’t care.

Sure you do. You want the redhead, don’t you? Jepson taunts. He always goes for the redhead.

Jaxson rolls his eyes. Actually, I was digging the blonde.

I already call dibs on the blonde. Jepson smirks, his eye contact hard across the table at his brother.

Of course you did, Jaxson mutters.

The blonde in question comes up and flashes the table a big smile. Anyone looking for a lap dance?

Actually, honey, we were hoping for something a bit more intimate. Jepson leans forward.

She tsks and throws him a placating smile. I’m sure you are, but this is not that kind of establishment.

I’m sure for the right price it could be any kind of establishment we want.

Where are you boys from?

Spring City, Colorado. What about you?

I’m Nashville, born and raised, sugar.

Jepson lets his eyes trail down her body. What time do you get off work?

Why? She straightens, putting more distance between her and him.

The boys would love to see Music Row. Since you’re homegrown, you could show us the places only the locals go.

Every place on Music Row is good, and they are easy to find. Just walk a straight line and follow your nose or your ears, depending upon what you’re looking for.

But don’t you want to entertain a couple of big, badass football players?

Plastering on a sweet smile, she bats her eyelashes. My boyfriend is a big, badass football player.

From Nashville? Rex arches his brow.

You damn right, she replies.

Yeah, but Nashville sucks, Jepson chuckles. We’re going to be national champions, honey. Wouldn’t you like to suck the dick of a winner at least once this year?

Her smile fades, and she turns to walk away. Jepson reaches out and grabs her hand—the one thing you’re not allowed to do.

Man, don’t touch the dancers, Rylie says, putting his drink down. He looks over his shoulder at security, which is walking their way. We’re not in Denver and the women here don’t know you like that, so keep your hands to yourself.

Fuck you, choirboy, Jepson releases her hand and puts his hands in his lap. Sorry honey. I just want to apologize. I didn’t mean to infer you’ll be sucking my dick. It could be one of my teammates.

She looks over our heads and shakes her head, letting the security guard know it’s okay for the moment. You’re an asshole.

Jepson smiles. Yeah, but I’m a hot asshole.

She rolls her eyes and walks away at about the same time a waitress walks up with another round of drinks. They are not supposed to be drinking tonight, and yet Jepson’s on his third whiskey on the rocks. His twin brother Jaxson is nursing his one and only beer and Devlin, Rylie, and Rex are drinking Diet Coke.

We should get out of here and check out a couple of local artists on our walk back to the hotel, Devlin says, throwing down a twenty and standing, brokering no questions that he’s leaving. Rylie also stands, throwing down his own Jaxson, following Devlin out.

Rex rubs the back of his neck. What do you guys think?

Prologue Continued

Jaxson

My brother scoffs. Let the choirboys go home. You know, the rumor is that Rylie used to be wild before he put Deacon Scott in the hospital.

I shrug. He’s got a kid and responsibilities now.

Jepson sighs, his eyes going back to the blonde who is within earshot. I wonder if she’d let me put a baby in her?

"Yeah, that’s all we need in this world—more yous running around."

Come on, man. Let’s get out of here. Rex tosses what’s left of the napkin he’s been tearing up on the table. We have a better chance of getting laid by some random chick on Broadway than we do here.

I stay in my seat and say nothing as I watch my brother. He’s in a mood tonight and god knows why this time. I never know what’s going to set him off. Never know what puts him in a bad mood. All I know is that when he’s like this, I have to stay close or else who knows what kind of trouble he’s going to start.

I am my brother’s keeper.

I would get the phrase tattooed across my shoulder blades, except that would definitely start a fight between us.

Jepson frowns at the blonde who is actively ignoring him, downs the last of his drink, and throws fifty dollars down on the table. Fuck it. Let’s get out of here.

I send up a silent prayer of thanks, hoping we get out of here without another incident. If I can get him back to his room, I can contain any fallout from the meltdown he’s on the verge of having. He needs to be medicated, not that I’ll ever be able to tell him that.

He would never hear it from me.

We walk out together—me bringing up the rear as usual—but we don’t get more than ten feet out the door when a guy a few inches taller and at least forty pounds heavier approaches us with way too much aggression to be a coincidence. Are you the asshole hitting on my Darla?

Which one is Darla? Jepson says with a teasing tilt to his lips.

The big guy’s eyes narrow. I heard you were talking shit about the Nashville Notes.

Yeah, because they suck.

We’ll see what happens on the field tomorrow.

It’s at this moment I recognize this behemoth of a man. This is Rick Steward—defensive lineman for the Nashville Notes—and I’m guessing the blonde is his girlfriend.

Perfect.

We were just leaving, I say, causing the big guy’s eyes to slide from Jepson to me.

I’ve heard about you two. The Masters twins. Word is, the ugly one is a decent guy and the pretty boy is an asshole. Seems like the rumors are true.

Jepson steps forward. What the fuck did you say about my brother?

I sigh, because of course he would use me as a reason to start a fight. Wrapping my hand around his bicep, I try to pull him back and give Rex a fucking help me look.

Rex steps between them. Not tonight, man. We get into a fight and we’re all fucked. Let’s save it for the field tomorrow, huh?

Rick smiles as a bouncer steps up to our group. He tilts his head toward the back of the parking lot. Take it off the property, Rick.

Fuck it, let’s go, Jepson walks in the direction the bouncer points to before I have a chance to stop him.

Shit, I hiss and chase after him. We only take a couple of steps before big hands are on my back, pushing me into Jepson. We both stumble forward, bouncing off the concrete wall near the side door.

I turn in time to catch a right hook across my left cheek and eye.

At the same time, a high-pitched squeal comes from behind us—a flurry of blonde hair and shiny silver material climbing onto Jepson’s back, screaming obscenities.

It’s over before it truly starts. Two bouncers pull the blonde dancer—Darla—off Jepson’s back, at the same time backing Rick up after he sucker punches me.

Get off the property, the second bouncer, the one not instigating the fight, says to Rex, who pulls both of us away to shove us into a waiting taxi.

The entire altercation takes less than two minutes and yet my cheek throbs and I’m positive I’m going to end up with a black eye.

Just another day in the life as Jepson Masters’ twin brother.

Fuck my life.

Chapter One

Jaxson

M asters, times two, Darius pokes his head around the lockers and into our line of sight. Coach’s office. Now.

Sighing, I set my shower kit into my locker and slide my shorts up my legs. Three lockers down, my brother is naked and looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

Dammit. I knew it.

I shake my head and slip on my shower shoes. He wraps a towel around his waist and slips on his sandals, following me down the hallway.

Coach Monroe looks up from his computer screen. The look on his face tells me he is not pleased. I just got off the phone with Coach Whitman from the Nashville Notes, and apparently you two were involved in an altercation Saturday night.

My brother shakes his head. I wouldn’t call it an altercation.

Really? So how do you explain Jaxson’s black eye and the scratches on your back?

A fun night with a spirited young lady? Jepson grins, thinking his charming smile and juvenile humor are going to get us out of trouble with our boss.

I know better.

Shut the fuck up, Jepson! Coach slams his fist down on his desk. You have a lot of potential, but I will not allow your bullshit to bring this organization down. Not this season. You don’t want to take this job seriously? Maybe we need to find you a new home.

Jepson’s smile falls. Sorry, Coach.

Coach Monroe shakes his head. The head office is sick of your shit. No more fuck-ups. No more bad publicity or headline fodder for the tabloids. If you want to make a home with the Rocky Mountain Rangers, your entire lives need to be football and only fucking football from now on. Do you understand?

Yes, Coach, we say at the same time.

If we have to have this conversation again, it won’t be you and I talking. The next conversation will be with Deacon Scott.

Well, shit. That’s the threat of all threats and a one-way ticket to the unemployment line.

He picks up a business card and hands it to me. The President of Communications made you an appointment for next Monday, one pm. The team wants the two of you to co-sponsor a local charity as part of your public relations commitment. All the guys are doing it, but Ms. Scott thinks if you keep your noses clean, they could spin the whole twin brother thing into a positive public image for you and the team. No other team in the league has brothers playing on the same team, much less twins. Use this opportunity to your advantage.

Jepson and I glance at the name and number on the card.

Maryanne Merryweather.

This has to be a joke.

Coach Monroe sighs. Hit the showers, Jepson. Jaxson, stand by.

I watch as my brother leaves the office. Right before he closes the door, our eyes connect, his unspoken words clear. You better have my back.

I know the look well. I’ve gotten it hundreds of times over the years.

I stand by stoically, my hands clasped in front of my hips.

Coach leans back in his chair and stares at me. Your coaches tell me it’s time to bring you up as a first-string cornerback. Your performance is phenomenal on game days and our defensive line could use your talents, but we also feel you are holding back during practice to stay under the radar.

My heart races in my chest. This is a dream and a nightmare unfolding before me.

The coach continues. While you and Jepson are talented players, you have an actual future in football, Jaxson. Don’t let some fucked up sense of loyalty ruin it for you. Jepson’s bullshit is not only going to get you in trouble with this organization, but he’s going to tarnish your reputation within the league. I understand he’s your brother and I understand he’s your twin—which supposedly makes you guys closer than brothers—but he is not good for you.

Coach Monroe rubs his neck and rolls his shoulders. Part of the reason we picked you both up, outside of your talents, was the gimmick. There are plenty of brothers playing on different teams in the league, but to have identical twins playing opposing positions on the same team, covering special teams in both directions, was a great marketing ploy. Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked out that way because the only headline fodder tied to the Masters twins is chaos. You need to make some decisions about what it is you want for your future regardless of Jepson. I suggest you take the next few weeks to think about what your position within this organization looks like.

Yes, Coach. My mind whirls with the crossroad I’m standing on.